The Yacht Club
by SpockTasticallyFascinating
Summary: And as they laughed, the wind picked up, spraying the water for miles around, but too far away for either of them to hear. The clouds formed and darkened into blackness, and the rains fell in sheets and torrents, just on the verge of hearing. A storm was raging nearby, and they had yet to suffer the consequences. Steve/Bruce
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Hello people! This is my first time writing an Author's Note. Yay... Okay, I know that Passing into the Night isn't done yet, but I really needed a breather to write something fluffy and less angst-filled. I'm really sorry for those people who are following it, and I'll get back to it as soon as I can, but for now, feel free to beat me over the head if you need to...**

**XXX**

"Soooo, Capsicle, Dr. Angry, are you admiring it? Are you basking in the glory of one of the most _fantastic _things I have yet to purchase?"

"Uhm, Tony, that's a boat..." Steve stood rigidly on the edge of the wooden dock, staring in confusion as the self-proclaimed genius, billionaire...(something like that) pranced around on his apparently beloved yacht, a golden-crimson affair that, in the Sun, almost prompted him to borrow sunglasses from Clint, who was crouching on the roof with a bored face verging on suicidal.

"Oh, c'mon Steve, you totally underestimate the power and overall awesomeness of Boaty, Spangles." Tony bobbed up and down in excitement that would've looked manic to anyone other than the confused Captain and the disbelieving Doctor Banner.

"You _named it Boaty, Tony?"_ Bruce huffed, a sharp exhale of air through his lungs that seemed as if it released all of the troubles of the universe in one gulp. He turns to Steve, an unusually amused look on his face. "Call the paramedics, because I'm pretty sure he's lost it."

"Bruce, _I'm surprised at you! Who knew you could be so abusive?!" _He widens his mouth in false disbelief, turning around to rub the inside seat in a manner that Steve could call lovingly if he wasn't trying to disregard it ever happening. "You guys just don't know him like I do..." Steve and Bruce turn to one another, the blond trying really hard to suppress his intense desire to question everything, and the brunet with the same long-suffering lopsided grimace as usual.

"Tony, we had to sit in the backseat with _Thor _for three hours so we could see your tacky version of a yacht that you apparently have a weird fetish for?" Bruce sighs again as Tony begins to whine, turning his back to the billionaire for a moment to observe his surroundings.

_Well, I guess you couldn't say Miami is too bad of a place to be._ The wind was warm and balmy, leaving a thin sheen of warm water across his neck, which was nothing but a comfort for a person who had spent time in the extremes of nature. The sultry smell of salt and wood perforated the deck area where Tony and company stood, Tony strutting animatedly across the deck with a bewildered Steve in tow, with Clint on the sunroof and Natasha and Thor taking their bags back to the hotel. _Yeah, it's not too bad at all._

"Hey Brucey-Goosey, what's shakin'?" A familiar voice chirped from behind, sounding a bit too happy for his own good as Tony leapt off of the shining monstrosity to stand across from him, rocking on his heels like a child on a sugar-high. _Never say Tony doesn't like his toys..._

"Oh nothing, just thinking about how I've never stayed in Miami for very long. Y'know, no vacation time for a wanted fugitive..." The creak in the boards informed him of Steve's return, lurking near Tony's side like a ghost, enough to make him want to giggle at the fact that said Captain was nearly two feet taller and almost as muscled as Thor was. "It's pretty nice that I get to come here."

Steve was the first to break the staring contest, an unsure look on his face and cheeks filled with just enough pink to look endearing. "I'd say this is a new thing for me, too, so maybe it'd be more fun if you could go find some places for us to go, Tony?" He shuffled awkwardly on the balls of his feet, trying desperately to keep the wind from tangling the blonde part of hair that continued to slip into his eyes.

And if you kept up the child analogy, Tony looked like a kid who had just been told everyday was suddenly Christmas.

"_Yes, that sounds like a plan! I'll go back to the room and find some shit, just wait guys; this'll be the best Avengers vacay in the history of mankind!" _And he skipped, _skipped, _to the lodge where he clattered through the glass door and out of view, somehow snagging a reluctant Clint along the way, leaving Steve and Bruce perching on the dock, as Steve gazed pensively into the depths.

Bruce nudged him gently on the shoulder, causing a pair of thoughtful eyes to meet his for a moment, and then quickly glance away. "So, was that a plot just to get away from Tony, or did you really mean it?" Steve chuckled slightly, a soft sound that easily dissipated into the constant rush of the ocean.

"Maybe a bit of both." He swiveled on his hips, tracing odd shapes into the grit and wood of the deck with a concentration that he seemed to always carry, no matter what the situation. "You don't blame me, do you," he muttered this in a softer tone, one that was almost missed if a pair of sharp ears weren't listening.

"No, not really. Tony can be a whirlwind sometimes, and no one can put up with that forever. I'm not sure how Pepper keeps him in line." At last, he got the desired eye contact, with warm eyes crinkled around the edges with a humor that he sure he wanted to hear more of if he had the chance to.

"I think she keeps the whip on call." This time, they both laughed clearly, Steve's deep laugh with Bruce's lighter chuckles and gasps of breath mingling into a contagious mixture that left them both wheezing, sitting and talking together into the sea breeze and the water, feeling the stir of water and a familiarity that comes with saving the world more than a few times.

And as they laughed, the wind picked up, spraying the water for miles around, but too far away for either of them to hear. The clouds formed and darkened into blackness, and the rains fell in sheets and torrents, just on the verge of hearing.

A storm was raging nearby, and they had yet to suffer the consequences.


	2. Chapter 2

The jolting, chaotic smell of electricity was what first jolted Bruce from his heat-induced slumber, coming to him only in the lethargic void between sleep and alert. He twitched and rolled over, feeling the surface beneath his body roll and heave like the deck of a ship, quickly raising the voice of the Hulk, who promptly told him to get up with a surge of heady adrenaline.

_**Banner, need to rise up from place. Hulk feel danger.**_

"Yeah, yeah, I got it..." He sat up, tapping his face to feel the comforting smack of his glasses against the bridge of his nose, attempting to groggily get to his feet as Hulk paced in the back of his head like an eternally bad headache. "Look Hulk, it's fine, there's nothing dangerous anywhere around here, just the wind and...rain?"

_Shit._

The rain was pouring, seeping through his clothes and into his skin with a chill that was far too cold for a place _this _close to the equator. Everything was in constant motion against the black sky, with the palm trees swaying in the wind like reeds, along with the drenched deck that rocked back and forth with enough force to send for a swim if it weren't for Hulk's crazed agility to keep him upright.

He wobbled across the wooden structure, fighting against the winds that threatened to thrust him up into the air. Up ahead, Tony's tacky _horrible _yacht bobbed like a cork, spilling all of Tony's careful preparation and alcohol into the ocean, dying the water a fierce red that reminded him morbidly of blood. _Yep, didn't need to think about that. You just need to calm down, Banner. _

The scramble of the last few yards felt longer than the first, yet as he clambered onto the previously pristine furniture, the surge of panic and claustrophobia made the walls sink and crawl towards his form. They were _far _too close for comfort when a large hand gripped his translucent white shirt, hauling him backward into it fast enough to evade the huge crest of a wave.

"Dr. Banner, are you alright?" _Oh, it's just Steve... __**Hulk like Captain.**_ "The rain suddenly appeared out of nowhere, and I couldn't come back to get you because the waves kept cutting me off..." The deep voice behind his head sounded more worried than he'd ever heard it previously, and he suddenly felt Hulk back off, leaving him very cold and drenched in the arms of Captain America. "Bruce?"

His breaths were a little shaky as the walls stopped caving in and he began to understand again. "S-s-t-teve, what's h-happening? Where's To-**NY!" **A large _crack _reverberated through the hull, tossing the two bodies forward, still tangled together, and hurtling into the cabin door as the boat began to drift. He could feel the thud behind them rather than hear it, and a pained moan buzzed through his skull.

"A-ah... ow, Bruce..." Blood streamed from a thick gash upon his temple, which set the usually calm Doctor into a flurry of panic that skittered across his nerves as he pressed a twitching hand against the wound, trying to staunch the flow.

"Hey, S-Steve, hey," he murmured anxiously, watching the blonde's eyes swim in and out of focus, "can you hear me? If you can, focus on my voice." _Please don't pass out, please don't pass out... _The seconds passed, and Bruce could sense the blackout before he saw it, bending to cradle the blonde in his lap as the gaze rolled back into his head and vanished entirely from view.

"Fuck..." The word was let out as an afterthought, gazing out of the back window only to see the pouring rain too fast to see the shoreline from where they came from. Trying to get up, he lays Steve down gently on the damp floor, with his head now adorned with strips of the abandoned white shirt, and wanders to the engine, stomach churning all the way from vertigo and worry. "Let's see what the problem is, shall we?"

_**Will Captain be okay? **_Hulk's voice was curious and worried, much like a child's would be.

A rush of guilt swelled in him as he popped the hood, realizing he couldn't answer the question. Immediately forgetting this, his vision swims with a blur of smoke and electricity, revealing no better results than a smashed engine, with sparking wiring and leaking fluids that he knew were irreparable, even without tools or Tony. The anger grew in him; enough to slam down the hood and huddle back inside, crouching beside Steve with a grimace.

_What are we supposed to do now? The engine's dead, Steve's got a concussion, and we're stuck in a boat who-knows-where with very little supplies! __**What am I supposed to do?! **_His teeth ground together, and he waited, waited for a while then a little more, waiting for _anyone _to give him an answer.

But, of course, there was no one.

"If this is my fate, then so be it." The closet beside him opened with a particularly hard jolt, burying them both in a torrent of blankets of varying sizes and colors, enough to completely fill the room with fabric as the Doctor unearthed his patient with gentler hands than he would've though, sighing softly through his nose all the way, because _he was tired. So tired that not even the Hulk could rouse him. _

So, instead of worrying and pacing like the lunatic he knew he was, Bruce curled up and slept by Steve's side, eyes closing to the sound of rain and the unknown feeling of where they would really be after this. He slept only bits at a time, jolting awake to see only downpour and to rip more cloth for his makeshift bandages as Steve slept, unaware.

"Hey Steve, what have we gotten ourselves into?" But, the sleeping couldn't speak, so Bruce dozed, feeling more alone than ever before.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Hey guys! So, if any of you have any requests for what goes on in my stories, feel free to write them in the reviews, because for some reason I'm **_**really struggling **_**with ideas. Thanks for reading my ridiculous stories, and hopefully you get something out of 'em.**

**XXX**

It wasn't too often that both Tony and Natasha agreed on something. Like, ever. But, seeing a huge slot of water where a boat used to be and with two people missing after a storm tended to cause general agreement.

"Do you think they were on the boat when it blew out? If they were, it could be possible to track it through the S.H.I.E.L.D. database." The red-head stood in near silence as the remaining Avengers piled around Tony's designated slot in the marina, searching in a full circle around the docks and tarps, glancing high and low for the missing persons.

"Tony, are you listening?" A snap of her fingers withdrew him from his shock-induced stupor, glancing back down to see Tasha looking with equal amounts of fear and strength, hair tousled with sleep and the constant pull of the breeze. Her lips clenched as she watched him silently, glancing quickly back to her partner making a no-good gesture with a wave of his hands. "If they can get a lock on the ship, we might be able to find them..."

_How could this have happened? I only left for a little while, and now both of them have disappeared... _He shrank in on himself, hunching his shoulders, feeling just as dazed and confused as when Natasha had woke him before, telling him that the boat was gone. It was a sharp, heavy weight to the chest, reminding him of when he first got the Arc Reactor, _and __**that**__ made him shiver a little bit. _The loss of teammates was the plethora of dreams, and having it come true was setting his mind on edge.

Because, honest to God, Tony had a _vivid _imagination, and the scenarios continued to gnaw at him, continued to make him shake at the thought of two familiar faces lying still and cold at the bottom of the ocean, hair still floating in waters too far away to reach.

"Let's go with that first. Then, if something pops up, we'll be able to improvise from there," Tony ordered, sending more than a few pairs of fretting eyes his way, which was enough support to keep going," We are going to find them, guys. It's only been eight hours or so since the storm passed through, and they could _not _have gone too far." Thor grimaced from the side, but even he kept his silence, opening his mouth only to breathe in the brisk sea air.

"Aye, Man of Iron, we will be quick and successful in our quest to find our comrades. I could not suggest a better team for this task, after all." This was followed by a tremendous slap on the back that sent the shorter man reeling, but the sentiment was felt regardless as the Thunder God strode to side, residing to his left with Natasha on his right, beckoning a silent Clint to her side. "So it shall be said and done."

Tony nodded, but as they slipped back into the hotel to call Director Fury, the shadow of doubts stilled weighed heavy on his mind.

**XXX**

With the morning passing on slowly into midday, the air temperature on the boat skyrocketed. The air conditioners had not been on Tony's list of important things to install, and the shade from the top deck provided ill comfort and paradise from the intense humidity in the air. It was unbearable, waking Bruce up with thick trails of sweat and warmth running down his shirt from the curls in his hair.

He awoke with a start, the combining smells of sea salt and body fluid enough to make him reasonably queasy, in which the scientist quickly turned over to look at his patient, still contently dozing despite the heat. The blonde was sweaty as well, though perhaps not as much thanks to the serum, and the Sun was casting its rays across the bridge of his prominent nose.

"Steve... Hello, anyone in there?" He sat up, wiping the droplets off with the back of his arm, gently prodding around the makeshift bandage, crusted and stuck with dried blood. A groan sounded from the back of the Captain's throat, though whether from pain or sleep Bruce couldn't decide, his whole body spasmed with a whimper of pain, white hot and searing from his temple.

"Hey, now, that's alright! Y-you don't have to get up just yet." He ran his calloused hands in a continuous circle around the wounded area, feeling the large man tense and relax in long waves of muscle. "Can you respond a little; maybe see if you can say something?"

The slow fluttering of his blonde eyelashes caught hold of his attention. _A bit longer than most people's, _he thought idly, revealing the wider, curved shape of the eye with a dilated iris, which Bruce assumed was from the pain. With the grimace and curling facial movement, a thin drop of blood escaped, setting a suicide course around the eye and towards the lips, where it was ignored in favor of Steve staring directly at him, intent on observing the quick flick of movement that wiped up the stray droplets. The scientist, feeling slightly embarrassed, curled back into his stifling shirt, scratching absentmindedly at the back of his neck with his broken nails while the Captain looked on.

A small smile brightened up his face for a little, even though it quickly turned into a grimace as his facial muscles ached. "You look a little beat up, Doctor Banner. Did a shark come and attack while I was gone?"

Bruce, however, was less than amused.

"Hahaha, very funny. You know, you and Tony should share jokes, because you two have really something amazing there. Maybe I should start telling America jokes just to make you feel my pain." He sat straight up, chest puffed out in a Tony impression that was enough to send him into fits if he weren't in pain and unable to move. He settled for thumping Bruce's head with an awfully florid pillow, hard enough to send him to the floor with a screech.

"Oh come on, Cap, that was foul play, and you know it," he griped, trying to flatten down his static-charged hair, which was now standing on end, "I could have died." An admonishing snort left the Captain before he could turn on his mental filters, in which he disguised by painstakingly turning over on his back, squinting his eyes in much dismay as the Sun glared down at him.

"Geez, it's like an oven in here."

"I know, that's what woke me up earlier. I guess Tony forgot to put in A/C before our "vacation" happened." He sat up again, back and knees popping in the silence that did make Steve wince a little, and _maybe a little guilty. _Padding to the end of the covered deck, he stood in front of the Sun, shadowing Steve's body from the major amounts of sunlight as he stared out into the vast amounts of blue. The shadows contorted his figure into a giant of a man, far larger than the actual host, who admittedly was on the shorter side. It was a pretty picture, and if Steve had the means, a sketch would have been in order.

"How on Earth are we going to get back?" His voice sounded a bit uncertain, catching the Captain's ears with a source of sadness that felt endless, something that bothered him as he looked on, but unspeakable to his tongue. It was all of his friends' deaths mixed with fear and weariness that made Bruce an old man to the ears, one that Steve would have been by now if not for his stasis. He pondered the question for a second, unsure if Bruce was actually intending an answer, but eventually concluding that he wanted an answer from himself too.

"We will have to wait it out and see what happens. We're stuck out here right now, but there are hundreds of possibilities that we haven't thought of yet. And, knowing Tony, the block head is probably chasing his tail trying to find us. So, "he motioned to Bruce, "the best we can do is wait and see. Yeah?"

"Yeah."


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: Yep, I haven't updated in a few days... I was on the magical world of Vacation, and completely forgot to write anything. Hahaha, yeah... So, read this next chapter!**

**XXX**

Steve was fairly used to living with more than one person. Hell, in Brooklyn, that was all he _and _Buck could afford together, so the closeness and strange bonding process of suddenly having a brand new person to share quarters with was something he was fairly familiar with. He was fairly fortunate that it was Bruce, because if it had been anyone else (_namely a certain billionaire) _he would've lost it by now.

Not that he was _completely comfortable._

_Because, _he wondered to himself, _isn't it a little odd that you can identify the person's arrival by smell now? _He sighed outwardly, feeling the rocking of their drifting boat that was becoming second nature to him along with the unbearable waves of sweltering heat and the smell of salt. The Sun was just peaking over the continuous lapping of the horizon, giving the forlorn Captain more nostalgia than possible. It was still a bit too early to wake up Bruce yet, so he let the exhausted Doctor snooze on underneath the shade of the upper deck.

And, even with the heavy scent of salt in the air, his enhanced senses still caught on to the only human smell on the ship, Bruce's manly yet soothing presence still milky and diluted with sleep. It made his nostrils flair, but the scent was everywhere, on every piece of clothing and furniture he could touch, and it was driving him—

"Are you alright, Steve? You don't look too good." The larger man jerked to his feet, careening forward as he sent stray blankets and empty cans of paint tumbling with a splash into the ocean below. His arms swung and circled as he tried to steady himself, catching the upholstery of the seats as the motion stopped, finding a guilty-looking Bruce Banner in his peripheral.

"Sorry about that," he frowned, creasing the skin across his forehead into a terribly upset-looking face, "I didn't mean to scary you." On cue, the reflex came, with a hand coming up to rub the back of his neck out of pure nervous habit. It was a simple gesture, but one Steve was coming to notice more and more often as he stepped off of the railing of the front of the boat.

The Captain reassured him that all was well, and they both slipped down to the deck, gazing as the Sun began to rise further past the line of horizon. It cast the sea in a bright span of colors that had the two stranded men entranced for some time, and it was a warm precursor to the day ahead, which was already going to be hot judging by the air temperature.

Steve grimaced, turning this way and that, only to catch a sidelong glance again.

"What are we going to do out here? Tony didn't put enough food in here to last us more than a few more days, and I'm almost certain we'll be out here longer than that." Another hand carded through curly locks, sweeping the overgrown hair out of his face. It may have only been a week since they were lost, but time hadn't passed without making everything drawn out and exhausting. Bruce had spent many of those days fast asleep, with Steve as sentry in small shifts. The lethargy and sleep was everywhere, like a poison hidden within the heat of the day. "I feel like I'm stuck in a puzzle with no way out, no way to solve it in time..."

"We don't really have a choice, though. We can ration food for as long as possible, but after that, you and I will have to find something else." It was almost a mantra now, a habit of Steve comforting Bruce when he was doubtful, and Bruce giving Steve something to protect. It was symbiotic, and provided a safety that both of them _really _needed in a time of crisis.

And the scientist always responded well to it, turning away from him with a nod and a thoughtful twitch of the lips that Steve enjoyed seeing when it appeared ever so often.

"You're really a naturally good guy, aren't you Steve?"

He blushes a bit. "I've been told that, but I never really believed it. I always thought that came with the whole 'hero of the world' gig." Broad shoulders lean back, taking in the warming of the Sun and the ever-brightening of the sky from indigo to a light cerulean. "Maybe it's a bit idealistic of me."

"No, it's not so bad. Having a little hope and morals is a good thing, not that any of us would know _anything_ about that." Cue a snort from Steve. "It's not a bad thing at all."

Bruce then excuses himself, going to wash his clothes and hair in the sink that they had dubbed the makeshift shower, with Steve atop a mountain of linens as he finished folding the washed ones into a stack. It was a fairly easy task, leaving him _plenty _of time to watch the scientist as he worked, water making his hair flatten and mute the curls. In the sink he looked half-drowned, which would usually call for a joke that would send him scurrying off, lest he be smacked with their raggedy dish towel. But today everything felt heavy, and not a word left either of them, with a half-naked sopping Bruce and a frowning, sleepy Steve sprawled across the floor.

"Steve," Bruce burbled, head still submerged under the faucet, "you looked pretty miserable this morning. Is there anything I can do?" He emerged, quickly wiping the stray droplets away from his eyelids as the shirt flew in next, dirty with more than a few holes.

_Yeah, if you'd stop smelling nice... Yes, Steve, because that's the __**best **__way to handle the situation. _

"It's nothing that serious. I've just been feeling a little out of it today." At the alarmed look, he quickly waved his hands in an attempt to distill the wild look of panic. "It's okay! I'm not sick, not at all! I just..." he paused, biting his lower lip, "It's been rough, and I feel kind of sluggish right now. It's a little difficult to sleep when you're stranded on the open ocean with no way home." A thicker blanket entwines itself around his fingers as he attempts to air it out, an unwelcome heat against his back as he throws it off to the side in frustration.

Finished wringing out his laundry, the smaller man stands over him, an unreadable expression plastered on his face like a stamp as he watched the Captain finish up his task. At last, he heaves the load over her shoulder and throws it into the closet, shutting the door before the avalanche of blankets was upon them. Save for one blanket.

"Here." It is wrapped around his shoulders quickly, with Bruce leaning close enough to make Steve, overwhelmed with his warm scent, start to internally pace. "You have been up for a while now. You can sleep in today, and _I'll _do your shift." It was a kind gesture, with a smile that made the edges of his eyes turn up under his glasses. "'Kay?"

Lulled by the kindness and the familiarity within dark irises, Cap nods in silent agreement, laying down in the pillow castle of Bruce's making, already feeling the hand of sleep snatching him up as said scientist wandered up to the front and sat down, watching out into the ocean. It was a bit much, but Steve felt happy in that moment.

Bruce Banner was with him, and they were safe and sound for now. That's all that mattered.


	5. Chapter 5

To the contrary opinion, Starks never did very well under pressure. And Anthony Edward Stark was definitely of that aspect of lineage. Staying up for three days running only on whiskey and energy shots to stare on the computer screen for a missing boat was kind of pushing the envelope for anyone, even for Tony.

After the call with the Director had gone _not so well, _the billionaire had been on-edge and pacing across his lab, leaving everyone else upstairs amused and/or skeptical. Natasha, ever stoic and cautious, just nodded on his hurried departure from the Quinjet, leaving everyone save for her and Thor clamoring after him. Fury had been undoubtedly furious with him, _which is retarded, because I haven't actually done anything wrong..._

"Well, fuck you too..." He yelled this out, to no one in particular as he slammed the probably-expensive micro wrench against the wall, resulting in a blaring alarm and sparking pieces of shrapnel screaming past his ears as the disposal system kicked in. "And you too, man! Is everyone on my ass today?!"

"I wouldn't wish to do that, Sir. That sounds highly unpleasant." He could almost hear the huff in Jarvis' voice, which really meant he was exhausted, because he hadn't programmed him that way. "The disappearances of Captain Rogers and Doctor Banner have seemed to stem your anxiety. Your heart rate is near the threshold of heart failure. Perhaps if I inform Miss Potts abou-"

"If you do that, I'll _personally _reprogram you so you have a hard lisp." Tony smirked as the obtrusive AI silenced himself, and then went back to his personal tracking beacon, well, beacon-in-progress. Right now, it looked like something out of Wall-E. The half-built parts sparked and fired aimlessly, burning his fingers enough times that it resulted in the smoking scraps of the micro wrench being swept away by Dum-E.

"Ah, Man of Iron, I had a feeling you would be down here!" _Great, good timing Thor. This is about the only time I __**really **__want to throw you out of an airlock... _The Thunder God bounded his way across the lab floor like some massive golden retriever, skidding on his heels as he maneuvered around stacks of paper and disassembled Iron Man gear. "I wish to speak with you."

"Yeah, I kinda figured that one out on my own. What's up?" He casually turned around, vaguely aware that Thor was far too close, because apparently Asgardians have no preconceptions about personal space. The blonde was nearly on top of him, with at least a foot and a half on Tony, which was _irritating _considering how happy and childlike Thor enjoyed being the majority of the time.

The irritation all went to hell as Thor _lit up._

"**There are quite a few things that have crosses my mind as of late to which I have no answers! I was curious if you could answer them in my stead!" **He said this quickly and without any knowledge of proximity, flailing his arms around and clamoring at a volume that was detrimental to the human eardrum if taken at full volume. Even with the yelling, it took a while to decipher Thor-speak, which was always waxing loquacious and elongated into meaninglessness.

"Wait, you want me to... help you figure something out, right?" A huge nod and a grin replied. "Yeah, sure, whatever. What is it?"

If possible, the god gets even closer than before, standing hip to hip with the exhausted, filthy engineer with a glee that Tony hadn't seen in days. It was still highly aggravating, but he felt a small weight lift off of his chest as Thor babbled on about everything he could possibly think of in one sentence, from cat videos to the T.V. (which took some work, because apparently it was "Moving Picture Box" and made him go through the long process of explaining that _no Thor, there are no people trapped in there.)_

As Tony's eternal clock was out of shape, he had no idea what time it was until there was finally a lull in the conversation and he checked the monitor. "It's two-thirty, anyway. Are there any good reasons why you're up? Not that I'm judging, because I can't say much either, like righ-"

Thor chuckles, and swiftly cuts him off before he has the chance to flounder any more. "Ah, no, nothing that I can vouch for honestly. I was just ruminating on my thoughts when I heard from the invisible voice in the walls that you were residing in here for the night, so I seized my chance."

"Here that, Jarvis? You just saved a Thunder God from his ruminating."

"I am pleased to prevent too much thinking, as is the trend."

"Ouch," he winces, making a dramatic frown that has Thor snorting in amusement. "You think something _I _created would like me more."

"I do believe my creation was to keep your ego in check and, thus far, I am doing a rather marvelous job."

A roll of the eyes answers the bait, letting Jarvis rant a little bit before once again falling silent into the metallic echo of the mechanics lab. Tony stood up and stretched soon after, feeling the shoulder blades and the neck vertebrae pop back into place with a crack. He hadn't done much besides work and drinking in a while, and the latter was a bit too much trouble if he had a Norse God with him. _And besides, maybe he could be put to good use._

"Hey Thor, you don't plan on going back to bed anytime soon, do ya? Because I could use an extra set of hands if you'd like to do something for me." He gestures to the mass chaos of the miscellaneous robotics materials and cables strewn haphazardly. It would have made Bruce go into cardiac arrest to put it in simple terms, and the thought left a bitter hole in his chest as Thor clambered to his feet, looking his way with the same sugary-obnoxious-childishly-fluffy demeanor that made Tony wretch.

"**I would be honored to assist you in this endeavor." **This being said with such a serious demeanor made Tony sigh and feel a little older. The blonde strode to his side, begging for instructions and orders like a dog trying to please its master, which, in a way, made Tony feel a little empowered.

_Because hey, who could command a god but Tony Stark, genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist?_


	6. Chapter 6

From the minute Steve awoke from his slumber, tangled and entwined in the blanket that he imagined still had Bruce's words embedded into the stitches, the sea was still. No waves harassed the deck in their fervid attempts to wear away the paint into scraps, and no winds whistled across the thick pane of glass protecting the controls. Unlike the past few days of constant breeze and noise, the world churned silently now, and it was more than unnerving.

The only noise he could determine from his foggy senses was the throbbing of his own heart, and the rustling of the other linens with soft rocking from the boat. The slow rhythm kept him company as he sat up, running steady hands through his hair.

It had been some time from his last nightmares, but the images from sleep struck repeatedly today, with the screams of comrades with nameless faces, their extremities melting from bouts of heat and pain in the fiery hell of his imagination, a forlorn Bucky tumbling to his end as he stared forward with the eyes of a dead man, hands raking his skin as he begged for mercy and for somebody, _anybody _to help him. And Steve, with all of his powers and strength, could do nothing.

This simple thought was what plagued him constantly, a shrewd voice that clamped onto his heart when in the heat of battle and the adrenaline was rushing. It was sulfurous and deadly, and with good fight Steve could purge it, withdrawing the emotions down into a well, a cap to keep it hidden. The poison only returned at the sight of blood drawn, at Natasha with a bleeding gash upon her left thigh or Bruce covered in cuts that Hulk couldn't protect.

_Bruce... _Steve, with his thoughts running a mile a minute, recalled his every memory of the scientist, his warm scent that plagued him, accompanied by the crooked smile that hid an age that made you want to _think_ and _know_ about him. His curls would swish and bounce as he laughed at whatever you said, the sound breathy and evenly pleased with your words. And he probably had the dopiest grin on his face right now, but Bruce was someone he wanted to know.

"I hope you know me. Well, you should, or you aren't too observant, are you?" Bruce was leaning over him, soaking wet and shirt slicked with motor oil. And, like an _idiot_, Steve jumped into standing and promptly face-planted into wooden paneling.

"I scared you again? You must not be paying attention." He smirks at the personal victory, lifting Steve to his feet as the blonde desperately tries to fix his clothes and hair, schooling the shock off of his face. "You were sitting in here mumbling to yourself with a really stupid look on your face, and I couldn't help but spoil your fun."

"I was thinking to myself, and, last time I checked, I wasn't the one who was sleep-writing equations on the walls." And what a sight that had been, too. The numbers for Only-God-Knows formula were still inscribed into the left wall, looking more like an ancient language to the Captain than any math he had ever seen before.

Bruce frowns, turning his back defensively with a shrug of his shoulders. "Well, fine. I guess we're at a tie. But, I think I know what would tip the odds in my favor." He gestures to the upper Captain's room, climbing the upper railing to perch between decks with the same domineering look. "I just happened to start working on our broken engine and there are still some parts that can be salvaged. There is a possibly that it could be rebuilt again."

The brown eyes were alight, Steve noticed, with the cautious burning of hope. He blushed, knowing he was looking a bit too hard if he could see all of that, but his counterpart didn't seem to have any notice of what he was doing at all. The scientist babbled on, completely content and unaware that Steve was unabashedly staring at him like the biggest piece of cake. _Well, thank God for that, because if Tony were here, I would be cowering in humiliation right about now. _

"Cap... hello? Steve..." The blonde had gone completely rigid in place, glazing right past his head into the open air, mouth hanging open slightly and eyes in utter rapture, almost predatory. Which was odd, and fairly startling that _he_ could have been the subject of all that and not noticed.

He slipped from his spot on the roof, tumbling down with a crash that dislodged more than a few bones but not the wayward blonde. It was creepy... _wait, __**was **__it? _

"**Steven!" **

"_...yeah?" _It was rough and unkempt, like he had swallowed shards of glass. Bruce's doctor training panicked from within him, feeling several versions of _wrong wrong wrong _swirl around his friend like smoke. The body posture was off, too hunched and feral, not completely aware of it. And as soon as he caught it, it was gone, disappeared within like another person being dissolved.

"I'm sorry, what was that? I must have stopped paying attention..." It was gone. The spellbinding predator had abdicated, leaving behind the soft, giving Steve everyone remembered, bright smiles and openness abound. The scientist felt his heart lurch in relief, letting out the breath that he had unintentionally been withholding.

"It's okay, it was pretty boring anyway. Well, I'll just go keep working." It was pretty weak to walk away so abruptly, to leave Steve alone as he raced away with a pounding heart and loud breathing. But _that _wasn't **right. **The emotions that welled up when Steve caught his eyes, the body movement, and the voice, all of it. He looked down, feeling his hands shake and tremble as the weakness took him for a moment.

_That look was... like he wanted to eat me. A cat watching a mouse. _

His legs finally collapsed as he climbed into the control room, curling into a ball as a defense mechanism. The Hulk was furious, growling and roaring for vengeance in his skull as the shields went up, trying to delete everything and soothe it. This had worked for years, and it proceeded in calming him down along with the Other Guy.

_Except for those eyes. Blue and sharp and terrible, open with need. Need for him. _


	7. Chapter 7

It had only a few days since he and Bruce talked about the engine, but ever since then, a sense of weirdness had ensued. The usually companionable scientist had been avoiding him, and it was driving him absolutely mad. Not only because he was constantly avoided, (which you would think was impossible because they shared an area so small, but Bruce made it happen) but because Steve had not a clue as to why. There were no clues, as he couldn't even get a glimpse of his target.

Steve curled up on watch, thick muscles on full display as his shirt had finally been lost, feeling the anger boil within him as he watched the waves churn with the storm in the distance. The scientist was always on his mind, even when he was doing something completely unrelated. No matter how stupid the memory was. His mind would slip, and he would remember all over again who exactly he was trying to forget. It was unsettling.

The wind was starting to blow now, coming in full force with the dark clouds that had Steve scrambling to throw everything under the deck as quick as he possibly he could. Storms were never as kind on the ocean, a bringer of destruction rather than greenery, and much more sudden. He ran quick rounds around the deck, tying the tarp for waterproofing in quick knots that Bruce had shown him last time the rain came.

And fuck it, he'd done it again.

"Bruce, "he murmurs, "He's still up there." The scientist was always up in the control room, his general excuse for avoiding Steve since they talked last. Bruce hadn't returned from there, and if he didn't now, he wouldn't ever. His heart hammered in his chest with the adrenal surge of protection that had him bounding up the stairs, breaths harsh and short as he turned the sharp corner. He needed to see _him, need to see him, need to see him right now and never let him escape, never let him disappear again becauseIneedhimgodammit. _

And there he was, curled and still as lovely as Steve remembered, which felt like ages in the frenzied haze of recent thoughts. Bruce was dozing, the front of his shirt ripped of the obtrusive buttons to display long swathes of tanned flesh dusted over with dark hair that trailed from collarbone to lower hip. Everything smelled of motor oil, and the teasing scent of hot, tired skin called out through his mental panic, whispering a wonderful image of closeness and sweat that made him want to groan.

In the second it took to play this through, his reason finally came to him. He shouldn't just stand here, watching, because the storm was coming and it would destroy everything if he didn't act quickly and get Bruce safe **now**. Steve hoped it was this reason that drove him to heave the soundly snoring Doctor over his shoulder and slip away to the warmth of shelter, taking the slippery stairs in two solid bounds that were feather-light as to not disturb his sleepy hitchhiker. Bruce only mumbled lethargically and showed no signs of stirring.

Good. There were major parts in Steve that couldn't handle that right now.

"Damn it. What have you done to me?" He could've yelled this in the board room full of S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives and the Director if it might have made the slightest difference. Bruce had managed to make sure that nothing was going to matter, in his own self-preserving, I'll-never-be-truly-as-good-as-you way that made the Super Soldier want to scream until his vocal chords died. It was the frustration, and the loneliness, and the skulking beasts of his dreams that plagued him with doubt.

Bruce curled inwards, mouthing into the sleeves of his shirt as the rains came down, in what Steve must be an inverse mirror of their first night, with the scientist unconscious as he looked on while storms howled from outside. It was surrealist and so very out of sync with the world, like the stories he knew Buck loved to read as a kid, ones with little lost boys and the magic of childhood that never seemed to last until needed.

The sentimentality was brutal, but necessary to pull the Captain back to the threshold of reality.

"That's right. 'A man is only in want of what eludes him.'" He speaks softly, blankly, without the spite of any other thoughts clouding him. He was the Captain now. "And I will not be the lesser man here, Doctor Banner. My thoughts will _not_ destroy the relationship we have right now, even if they threaten to destroy me. Nothing I can say or do will ever make a difference to you, so I will end it as is. So, this might be considered a farewell." He trembles to his feet, eyes glazed as the drops fall mindlessly into the background, droning with the harsh clatter of give and take.

"Goodbye, Bruce."

His body slips into the torrent, winds ripping needles at his bare torso exposed to all as he glances upward, soaking and teeth chattering up into the heavens, voice pleading for a savior, be it God or a god to rescue them from misery. The desperation was apparent in everything but his eyes, cold and nebulous as he imagined the stars would be if not hidden under sheets of slate clouds.

The eyes of a man lost were not to be denied.

And, ever silent in his vigil, Bruce Banner looked on, green eyes ancient and lonesome with Hulk fully silent and his heart racing. He watched as the blonde Captain howled his woes to the stars above, very much a mortal man in his pain, never once looked away as Steve collapsed onto the deck wracked with empty convulsions of chill and despondency. His hands shake and his breath rattles as he drags the man to safety, but his gaze never left him.

Steve deserved that, at least, didn't he?

**Author's Note: Hello. I know it's been awhile, but I had to write this chapter so many times. I couldn't get the emotions quite right, and I'm still not too satisfied with it. As always, my entire existence revolves around your reviews/pointers/criticism, so, don't let the author go through existential crises. Please give me some input~**


	8. Chapter 8

The lights were dim and dark, but Tony Stark could still see just as well. Maybe it was practice, or more probably was the _fucking nightlight _inserted into his heart, but he was very much aware of the things that surrounded him. Namely, the completely clean room around him, with all of the tech hoarded away in a desperate attempt to actually find some place to sleep. Or, maybe, it was the softly snoring Thunder God draped over Tony's workbench. Yeah, that's it.

Memories of his insomnia always came back later, when he hadn't just passed out on the floor, and he'd slept just enough to push back into the deepest pockets that he couldn't retrieve them easily. Most people assumed it was his excuse to do something mind-bendingly dangerous/stupid/inappropriate, but it wasn't true. No one belie- _well, Bruce believed him, and I guess Pepper, possibly._

_**Bruce and Pepper.**_

It hurt to touch those spots in his head, the ones where Steve was laughing or getting confused over his new cell phone, with Bruce eating ridiculous amounts of ice cream and late-night machine races and Pepper in that _tight _red dress and the matching heels. _Well, _he amended, _Pepper isn't lost at sea, but she might as well be. _

Tony never did breakups well. Especially the meaningful ones.

So, instead of letting things go, of babbling to no one in the cathartic way that always made him feel better, the way that **Bruce **always- the point is _he didn't, okay? _He sat there and sulked, feeling sorry for himself as he had become especially good at recently. It was what he was good at, the whole "_Look at ME" _shtick that kept him going.

"You do not seem to be recreating the art of sleep correctly, Stark. Do you require assistance?" Thor was now fully awake and functioning, eyes half-closed as he sat crookedly, upper half dangling boneless over the top of the dark piece of wood that someone had bought him for some formal occasion. Guessing by the tone, Tony was pretty sure it was a joke, but you never know, especially with an inexperienced Norse god that didn't know what the toaster was and tried to rescue people from the T.V.

"No thanks, Shakespeare, I think I can manage all on my own." Thor grinned, a stupid, tired grin that flashed off too many teeth to fit in his mouth at once. Tony idly took it all in, like surveying machinery but with far more interest, because _he _was definitely not the normal animal in the zoo. Which made him laugh, because _Christ, he'd actually made a zoo analogy while sober._

Then Thor laughs, which makes it all better. "Did it amuse you that much? Or was it what you didn't say?"

"A little bit of both," he shrugs, too tired to give enough energy to get up and know what time it is. Oh wait, he didn't have to. "Jarvis, what time is it?" A pop-up display appears on the digital on his left wrist, displaying 5:30 A.M. in large blue block letters that had both of them shielding their eyes from the brightness. As it seemed, even his AI was too tired to bother to give him vocal answers. Whatever.

"It looks like we both passed out around three hours ago. It's not so bad. That was the first nap I've had in three days." The god gapes a little at the fact, mouth spread wide and eyes cracked open a bit too much to be completely lucid. It was nice to surprise a god every once in a while, he realizes, and finds the willpower to straighten his shirt and pull up to sitting position. From his judge of distance earlier, the blonde had seemed yards away, leagues even, but from here, it was only a few feet. Thor's eyes follow the movement in what looks like an old habit, and he chews his lip before speaking again.

"You are just like my brother in that regard. The fool would spend every waking moment reading, whether he should be awake or not. As a child, I was convinced he did not require such humble things as sleep and sustenance." The twinkle was back, the one Thor always had when he was completely absorbed in something, be it a question or an old story. Even if it was about Loki, the loony vengeance-ridden god hell-bent on becoming king, who quite honestly, was making him itch with about seven kinds of jealousy.

Stupid looney-tunes gods.

His train of thought derails when Thor, sensing his mind wandering, jabs two _strong _fingers into the center of his forehead. Well, it could have hurt, but it didn't, really. It was comforting in an honest, quick way, drawing him away from those pockets in his mind and into the present.

"Ah, sorry. You looked ill for a moment, and I did it on reflex." And suddenly, there were notes in the god's voice that Tony couldn't remember ever hearing before. They were too soft, too sudden for Thor's general range of happiness and playful confusion, and played like a sullen minor key over a winding chorus. Not bad, but wrong. And wrong was _not _something Tony Stark tolerated.

"Pssh, who cares? It's not like you mortally wounded me, Antlers. Unless I am bleeding right now, and that's when we have a problem on our hands." He mocks putting nervous hands to his head, all the while keeping steady eye contact to judge expressions. Certain expressions like the one Thor was giving him now, unchecked amusement rising in the curves of his lower lip and the light furrows in his forehead and around the eyes.

"No, I see no blood to speak of." It was a serious answer, too serious with Thor's facial expression in place, and after half a second, they both burst into exhausted laughter. Everything was too heavy and tense and it made Tony want to do something retarded, or, rather, have someone to do something retarded _with. _Having a willing, grinning god wasn't too bad.

**Author's Note: Tony, I need to write more of you! He's probably one of my favorites to write for obvious, bad-ass reasons. My thought was Tony was a secret worrier over everything, and Thor is there to comfort him unexpectedly. Too cliché? I wanted to take it slow with these two, as they are in the less stressful situation and don't have death hovering over their heads.**

**So, please comment or review or criticize. I love listening to you guys' talk, so give me all you got.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: I feel like I'm constantly apologizing for writing later and later. I finally got my new laptop, and so my updates will become a little easier on me. But, with school and all of my insane workload, it also might be a little erratic. I don't really know if anything I do is pleasing you guys, and my self-esteem has been bottoming out as of late, so, not to beg, but I'll take anything you're willing to give.**

**All wallowing aside, I'm thinking of bringing a new character into the fray to sort out either Tony's or Steve's relationships. Any ideas? My thought was an outside personality to fix up the kinks, and so on and so forth. Send me a review with your requests, please. And, I have to take time to think about TDOM for a bit, as my angle is a bit unsure for now. I'm just glad you put up with me. Thank you, all of you.**

A wayward yacht was having sea troubles in the deep unknowns of the ocean. Tangled and dragged along in the midst of a frothing current, the expenses of paint and objects were painstakingly removed, ripped away by the swift heave-and-tug of the sea waves that battered it. It was a well-seasoned ship, flanks battered with dents accompanied by the chips of flaking paint, just as seasoned as the passengers it tried to protect from harm, sleeping thoughtlessly in protection by an overhang.

In a particularly high crest, the worn flag hung lovingly by its original owners flung seaward, like a child's hand threw a loathsome toy that had left its interests. The cloth floated solemnly behind as the vessel traipsed onward, lingering on the surface of foam until the boat lay out of sight, then sank and was devoured by the monsters hidden just beneath. And still, the yacht kept afloat, be it by God or some other means, while the storm passed.

No other being witnessed its valiance save for the sea birds caught in the fray, and no such animal could appreciate it truly, watching from their spots on the slowing seas as it faded away, on a great journey to a growing point on the horizon.

XXX

Just as the storms had died, so had the tense strings of emotion in Steve Rogers' chest as he wandered, replaced instead by a smattering of something he couldn't define, just on the tip of his tongue. It tasted slightly like hope, bright and strong flavors that he hadn't had since the food and idealism ran out. Blue eyes glistened and keenly grazed the strip of coast beckoning in the near distance. _Coast! _Even the mention perked him up a little bit more.

He had awoken earlier this morning to find them beached on a wide expanse of a sandbar that solidly kept them still and steady in the streaming rays of the amber morning sun. The few yards to shore were swimmable, if one was strong and quick with the tides. It lit the blank slate of his heart with undiminishing excitement, but he still had enough sanity left to leave it alone until Bruce awoke later in the day.

The breeze tousled his hair slightly; the remnants of the morning chill left over just before the Sun cooked the water to a boiling temperature. It calls to him, embedding the warm longing of the water into the pores of his skin, bringing with it a strange tropical smell of warm sand and the crisp green of plants that had his heart aflutter with memories of sweet fruits that he couldn't remember tasting. Need seized him in a panicked frenzy, encouraging his body to hurl into the water below, deep enough to submerge him fully.

Contrary to his horrid terrors of his dreams, the place below the surface was not a dark _or_ oppressive affair, instead a crystalline shimmer of light blue that engulfed all of his thoughts, pacifying him in the aqua depths. He threw his hands forward, keeping his torso at a semi-float that preserved his place at rest as a new shadow played over the surface.

As his attempts to call out to the shadow only resulted in bubbles tumbling from his lips, he held himself and watched with eyes stinging from salt exposure. A warm hand plunged into the water, with the blunt heaviness of masculinity but the careful precision of movement of one whom took thought into it. Steve observed it for a moment, prodding with the tips of his fingers then drawing familiar lines with the pad of his thumb. Stars exploded and reformed in his vision, and his emptying lungs screamed for oxygen as buoyancy took him up into the brightness where _he _was.

Steve knew that the cinematic of the night before was crumbling before his eyes as he breached the surface. The ever-present brown eyes told him so, told him the truth of no escape from the entanglement of emotions they also held. Bruce was _there_, square-face with the smudged glasses perched on his nose. There was fear in his posture, fear and focus and something _carnal _that foretold the presence of the Hulk down in his depths. Brown eyes flick away.

"Do I need to ask why you're down there, or do you not have an answer either?"

"You could, but the answer wouldn't make a lick of sense to any of us." It was meant to be humorous, but rang with enough truth that he caught another focused glance that sealed the deal. Steve cups the scruffy Doctor, scratchy and rough with the lack of shaving and the elements, and _looks. _The proximity registers then, how close they are, as the blonde entwines his fingers into the overgrown hair and tugged, mouths achingly close but not together.

"I thought you promised to not feel anything at all." Bruce mumbles nervously against his mouth, lips brushing together in continuous sensation as he slips farther and farther into the Captain's grasp and into the water.

Steve smiles plainly. " I am a terrible liar." And the world falls to ruin.

The last creeping inch falls away as Bruce Banner tumbles into the water, throwing his glasses on deck messily as his mouth drags against Steve's as Steve takes control, hoisting him up above his head to keep from sinking as the result of weeks of display and pain come to fruition. Bruce clings onto his neck, feeling his lips part of their own accord as their tongues drag together. A pained groan escapes accidentally, and he holds tight even as they part, bodies slipping down to natural height.

It was breathtaking, enough to steal his words away as they curl themselves back up, dripping wet and interlocked with one another like puzzle pieces. Bruce glances over, curling into the soothing sensation of bigger, stronger arms holding him close. The two lay there, breathing harsh, on the ship so close to shore, but unwilling to venture any farther. It was silly and reckless, yet completely necessary.

Steve murmurs something unintelligible into the base of his neck, not something that was meant to be understood as he pressed a quick peck against it, sending shocks down his spine and turning his lazy bones to jelly. Yep, neither of them were going anywhere.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note: Hey, everybody! It's the new-and-approved author here, sans the death and depression! My depression has come and went, courtesy of school starting and all of that jazz. And I'd like to give special thanks to ****Lupinfan1, ****who was excruciatingly nice to me. Thanks a whole lot.**

**XXX **

Now, keep this in mind, Tony Stark was very accustomed to getting drunk. Hell, he was drunk most of the time as a rule of thumb, and the trials of the alcoholic beverage were a tried-and-true quest. At least, that's how Thor would have put it. He was feeling pretty Shakespearean today.

So, anyway, where was he? Oh yeah, drinking. Drinking was pretty good. Yes, yes it was. He thought this vaguely as he felt the whiskey scorch down his throat, mellowing out into a pleasant glow in the pit of his belly. The brighter the glow fluoresced, the more the room swam and fizzled into the oblivion above his head. It was odd and comfortable, something he'd learned as a child, to take the careening nausea and transform it into something familiar.

The most familiar thing was next to him, or he hoped he was, as he couldn't really tell anymore. He'd learned early on that Thor was a quiet drinker, very meditative and thoughtful as he took one swig after another in quick succession. Each movement was measured, even as the liquid tumbled out of the glass. Tony had stared at those hands, entranced at the intricacies of the wrist, the straight fingers that curled ever-so-slightly from overuse, _everything. _

He slowly slumped against the counter, skin shaking from the metallic cold of the bar top. He was okay like this, head propped in the crook of his elbow, gazing out into the shimmer and fairy lights and not thinking at all. It was good, and bad, and _oh so void out here in the distance. _It would swallow him one day, alone in the dark forever.

The tears didn't register until a soothing hand grazed soft circles between his tense shoulder blades, tracing algorithms and sequences and piano chords across his back, flipping evenly over the spine before repeating, lines in a continuous loop. Their eyes never met once, with sentiments shared through impulses buried under the skin.

"What the hell am I doing here…"? He couldn't see his face, but Tony knew exactly which expression Thor was giving him, the one just after his stories as he remembered what became of those people soon after.

"You are here because others need you. And, if I could have it changed in any way, your presence will still be here, just as you are now. Tony Stark is wanted here." It was honest, so _goddamn honest that he wanted to rip his heart out, _but, this time, he couldn't rip it apart; degrade it to nothing like he did with Steve. _Steve._

" But," Thor continued, "this expression, this one of pain that you hold… This is the price of being wanted. When those few disappear, it will be a thing that will tear your heart to shreds. The pain is endurable, certainly, but also sapping of strength. That is how it must be, and you must strive to live with it until you can take them back."

He was sobbing now, ugly sobs with a running nose and all, and letting go wasn't the melodramatic closure his mind had promised it to be, with a warm liquid was trailing down his front. The whiskey had tipped in his tirade, dribbling across the counter like some tainted waterfall plunging to its depths.

Then, it all stopped.

Just like the spontaneity of the tears, it ended just as quickly as it began, with a mess on the floor and Tony's eyes flushed red with blood. He turned to stare at Thor, with the stupid open-mouth expression he used to mock Steve for when he got lost.

"How did you do that? I-I mean, _how?" _

"Magic." He said it with a serious face, then the mask split with a huge grin flickering like the light of the Sun. _Wow, Tony, way to make __**that **__heterosexual. Good job. _

"Real magic, or _magic _magic?"

"I wasn't aware of a difference between the two."

Tony shakes his head with a loud huff, and sloppily pushes the amber liquid off of his pants, only to feel the alcohol seep uncomfortably into his jeans. "Never mind… I don't want to drink anymore. I've had enough crying for today."

"Well, you implied that you wanted to spend time with me. Is there any other thing you wish to do?" Thor, still miraculously _sober, _twiddles his thumbs as his pinky finger drums on the table in time to the clicks coming from the dishwasher. It was pretty weird to see a huge guy perched on his barstool, asking for his company.

Tony started to speak, only to have thoughts punctured by a raucous yawn.

"Are you tired? You should sleep if you require rest." Blue eyes darted over his form, as if noting every variance and ache in his muscles.

"Huh. Yeah, maybe I'll do that, actually." He bids Tony goodnight, and, for the half-second it took to stand up, it was quiet and calm and everything Anthony Edward Stark wanted to be since he was a kid looking down at his father's shoes and wondering if he could ever measure up. He could, _no thanks to Dad, _and did, but that wasn't important now.

He slipped away into his bedroom, flopping himself down on the unused sheets and comforters, emitting a groan from the depths of his throat.

He'd just cried in front of Thor. Fuck.


End file.
